


Street Rat

by Kit_SummerIsle



Series: Luck of the Draw [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Everything is consensual, M/M, Seal Breaking, ideal society AU, interface, luck of the draw AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: Ratchet gets to be a mentor again. No surprise there, he gets it often... but why can't he find his charge?





	1. Finding

“Oh, for Primus’s sake!”

Ratchet slapped down the scanner he was fiddling with and glared at the communications console like it personally offended him. He quite simply had enough of Pharma, Redline or any of the staff in the hospital. They appeared to be determined to prevent him from finishing up in time for the first time in a groon. And he had plans for this evening, plans that he didn’t want to miss. Orion and his friends expected him to be there at their party and it was rare enough he could actually join them, even without the celebration. His present for Orion’s promotion was safely in his subspace, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he was too late. And what the Pit did anyone want from him this late? Ratchet slapped the button with rather more force than necessary and the message popped up on the screen.

It was not from Pharma and neither from anyone in the hospital. Ratchet read it again, groaned and straight out facepalmed. Just what he needed. Exactly what he needed between working in the Iacon Main Hospital, practicing in Pharma’s clinic and studying for his third degree – and right now being late from Orion’s party. A single facepalm didn’t even do it justice. Memorizing quickly the designation, he threw the half-finished scanner into a box, wiped off his servos and was out of the lab and speeding towards the café.

He was just a bit late and Orion forgave him easily, looking happy for his present, a rare treatise on the Second Era that Ratchet found while shopping for medical texts – and with the frequent toasts of good quality energon, happy young mechs surrounding him and various conversations to engage his processor, Ratchet completely forgot the whole message and the designation by the time he managed to get home. He recharged very little that night and his next orn was as busy as the previous ones, so it wasn’t till he arrived home, dead tired and wanting nothing more than recharge for three orns straight – that the message and the designation came forward in his processor again. He checked both his work inbox and the home number, but there were no calls that he didn’t answer.

“Hehh. Strange. Should have called by now.”

Most young mechs were very eager to call their mentors as soon as they got the designation, so it was kind of strange that his future charge was still silent after two… make that nearly three orns. Ratchet glanced at his berth wishfully, but as mentor he had duties. No matter how inconvenient it was, he must seek out the young mech if he hadn’t done it so far. Maybe he was very shy or something. Typing the full designation into a search engine he morosely waited it to spit out an address and a call number. 

“That’s… impossible.” 

The address was incomplete, listing just the street and town but no house or flat number and neither sounded familiar to him. The callsign was obviously wrong, far too few numbers in it and… well, Ratchet dearly hoped that it wasn’t in some tiny, remote colony in the aft end of nowhere. He just couldn’t leave Cybertron right now that would take ages… but the further search calmed him down – and made him frown. Apparently the street was in Rodion City, but in a section that the map marked as demolished. How could anymech live there? Still, he had a number… but another few kliks of further search told him that his suspicion was right – even Rodion numbers were longer than what he got. 

So how on Cybertron was he supposed to find his charge? And why would he not contact him by now? Ratchet went to his berth at last, but half the night cycle he spent tossing and turning while he pondered on his mysterious charge and the possible ways to find him. Small surprise that he looked death warmed over the next morning…

“Pharma, I must take at least an orn off.”

The slender medic didn’t look up just shrugged one wing.

“You do look terrible, I told you that before. Sleep it off properly, you can take as many orns as you want to. I can’t have my star medic make a potentially fatal mistake.”

“No, I hope it’s just one. And not for recharging either. I must find a mech.”

Pharma looked up, interest flashing in his blue optics and he put down the datapad he was making notes in.

“Find a mech? What for? Did you take a detective course too?”

“Slag, no! Two electives are more than enough. Nah, I was drawn as a mentor and the kid didn’t show up yet.”

“Mentor, ehh? Free fragging with an innocent kid? Why Ratchet, I envy you suddenly.”

“Don’t.” Ratchet scowled back. He wasn’t going to put up with Pharma’s crude ribbing. “He didn’t contact me, the address is wrong and I must find out why.”

“What’s the address?” Pharma frowned as Ratchet showed it.” Huhh. Never heard of it. Well, good luck finding him. A good frag should make you less grumpy at least!”

Ratchet grimaced and left that without a reply – it really didn’t deserve one. Half a joor later he was on a speedtrain towards Rodion and pondering on how to find a mech who apparently didn’t want to be found and what to expect from him.

-o-o-o-

The way from the train station towards the street he memorized was making Ratchet frown even in vehicle mode. Every hic he drove, the buildings became shabbier, cruder, poorer, the streets nearly empty of vehicles and walking mechs alike, the road riddled with potholes… like he was on an entirely different planet than Iacon. Huge swathes of building blocks were run down or already demolished, like the one apparently his goal. It was like the town once, some time ago had a purpose, a wealth, a resource of some kind, that had by now run out and left the bare, creaking struts of a once-busy, industrious town behind. It was queer to see so few mechs move around in broad daylight, almost ghostly after the crowded streets and congested roads of Iacon. 

And it got worse as he neared to his target, the street-names he was at first navigating by had long since disappeared and Ratchet was forced to rely on GPS coordinates and VR alone. Nothing looked like it did on the once made VR map. Where it showed busy factories, he saw only run-down, empty warehouses. Where it marked a public garden, there was only heaps of rubble rusting away in the acid rains. Where it should have been a straight, open road, something narrow and pockmarked twisted around unidentifiable structures. How can he find anymech in this… and why would anymech live in such a place? The distance scanner that he borrowed from a hardware store showed very few of the buildings inhabited – small wonder as most were in the process of coming down any klik – and none of those IDs matched so far what he was given. 

He very nearly missed it when the scanner blipped briefly and drove past the ruined-looking structure. But the scanner signaled once more on the other side and Ratchet braked, stopped, transformed and went back to it. Finding an entrance to the boarded up building proved a challenge he nearly proved inadequate, but Ratchet was not a mech giving up anything, once started. Barely a few breems he was inside – though heavily wishing he didn’t have to. The inside of the building was dim, dank and smelled heavily of rust and decay. It had to have been a residential complex of sorts, the once apartments opening from a central corridor were – just barely – still recognizable, though all of them gutted and many of the ceilings and walls caved in, making the whole thing about as safe as an open-spark surgery on a alien battlefield. 

The single sparksign was coming from below ground, to make Ratchet even more nervous about the state of the structure and the stairs looked barely recognizable, much less be called safe. Still, he advanced and ignored the ominous creaking and cracking around him. Curiously, the underground part was in a better condition, and the medic even noticed some attempts to repair and shoring up of the more dangerous weak points. There was also a few definite signs of habitation around – broken cubes that looked newer than the building, some scratches and carved glyphs on the walls… and at the end of a corridor, he saw some light that definitely didn’t come through a window and some light noises a mech might make. Or a turbofox.

The thoroughly fed-up medic advanced with little care for his own noises. He wasn’t hiding his coming after all, only concerned with finding his charge, who must be pretty uncomfortable now what with all the chemicals priming him for interface. The last door open, he took in the dim hole that contained very little aside from a dingy berth… and a mech shivering on it under a thermal blanket of sorts.

“Finally!” Ratchet exclaimed, because he was fed up and the ID matched. “Are you… Drift?”

The mech on the berth didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to notice his entrance, which was pretty strange. Even in recharge one would notice being called by their designation. Exchanging his scanner for a medical one Ratchet stepped closer to the berth and took in the small signs. The mech was shivering under the blanket and his plating – as much as could be seen – was not only dirty but dim too, like fading. 

“Slag! What the Pit is wrong with you?”

The scanner shoved elevated temperature, a lot of bad readings, low energon pressure and general low levels too, along with a lot of other, minor inner damages. But the age also confirmed to him that he was indeed the young mech he was supposed to mentor.

“Kid, you are in a bad condition. Can you hear me?”

He knelt by the low berth and drew back the blanket, experienced digits looking for a medical port for a better inner scan… when someone arriving a lot quieter than himself or the kid on the berth spoke up behind him in a threatening tone.

“Leave him alone, if ya know what’s good for ya!”

The cold metal touching the back of his helm was further reinforcing the threat. Ratchet put up his servos and slowly stood up.

“Hey, now, no need for threats. I am a medic. I just wanted to find out what’s wrong with him. Are you his… caretaker?”

A few kliks worth of silence and then a grumbling answer. The cold metal didn’t move, so Ratchet refrained from sudden gestures.

“I am his… friend. Why are you here? How did you get here and what do you want from him?”

“It’s… look, he’s obviously not well. Can I treat him before we get to whys and whatnot?”

“Are you here to take him back to the reformatory?” The mech ignored his plea and remained adamant.

Ratchet hummed at that lifting a brow plate. So this mech, this Drift was apparently a… runaway, or even worse? It was great. Just great.

“No, I am not. Now, could you stop threatening me so I can check what’s wrong with him? I’m neither enforcer nor police and I’m not required to report his whereabouts while treating him. I operate under medical codes, meaning I must act on his behalf only.”

There was a longer silence now, as the mech behind him mulled over his words. In the end Ratchet was happy to notice the metal disappearing from behind his helm and the mech stepping back a little. He was glad that even in this run-down place medical coding was known and trusted. Somewhat.

“You… promise not to report him? Drift did badly there, he’s much better here!”

Ratchet turned slightly to see his… attacker? Wasn’t really an attack, he concluded, seeing the simple length of pipe in the mech’s servo that he used to threaten him. The mech was mostly dirty gray with some faded and scratched yellow and obviously a heavy laborer of some kind. 

“No, I’m not. I want to help him.”

“Why? Who are you?”

Ratchet decided that they can talk further while he took Drift’s readings and knelt back by the berth, his cable slotting into the unconscious mech’s medical port.

“I’m a medic from Iacon. My designation is Ratchet. I was assigned as mentor for Drift.”

Slag, the kid had more viruses than an epidemiology lab. Ratchet started to filter and detain them one by one from behind his own firewalls. The gray mech came closer again and lowered himself beside, to see the what he was doing better. Trust obviously only went so far…

“Mentor? So that’s why he was so… antsy lately?”

Ratchet cast an unamused glance at him.

“Antsy? Sexual maturity is not an easy time without a mentor. And I’ll have to take him to someplace… better, because he needs to get more treatment for his problems.”

“What? No, you can’t!”

“I have to, or he won’t get any better. Slag, how did he collect so many viruses? One has completely trashed his thermoregulator.”

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t here for the last few orns... tried to get a job. Bad timing, but he wasn’t this bad when I left.”

The young mech choose that klik to come round and he looked pretty disoriented. But he still managed to flail a bit and tear out Ratchet’s cable from his port. Ratchet cursed, as it stung, and a flailing arm hit him.

“Slag, kid, calm down!”

“Drift, it’s okay!”

“Wh-hoo?” Even his voice was barely croaking and hardly understandable.

“It’s Gasket, Drift, calm down! The other mech here is a medic – not the one from the center! You are badly off, he says, so let him treat you?”

Hearing the designation, the mech on the berth calmed down considerably, Ratchet noted. They must be good friends then. 

“I am Ratchet and your friend is right, you have a lot of viruses and a few issues they caused that I have to treat. I am also here because I’ve been drawn as your mentor.”

Though how was he expected to teach interfacing to a kid barely conscious and completely distrusting him, Ratchet wasn’t sure. True to his musing, Drift looked agitated again and trying to draw away from him on the narrow berth. Cleaning up some of the viruses apparently had made him a bit more coherent and awake.

“N-no, I don’t want to! Leave me alone! Get away!”

Ratchet had a bad feeling deep down, clenching his tank. He’s never seen a young mech refusing the interface so vehemently, but he had read old cases, describing ‘unwanted sexual attention before mentoring’. Or, as the older, less used term described it, rape. He very much hoped it wasn’t that bad. 

“You are not fine, Drift, even I can see it! Let the medic treat you!”

That this Gasket mech decided to be on his side alleviated Ratchet’s first suspicions. An abuser wouldn’t behave this way, he would try to mitigate the problem to a medic. But he decided to take the young mech back to Iacon and do a lot more examinations than previously planned. Probably a psych eval too.

“Look kid, don’t worry about that now. I’m gonna treat you and for that I have to take you to Iacon. Your friend can come with us if it makes you feel calmer. Is that okay? We will talk about this… other matter later.”

“N-not the C-center!”

“No, I’m not going to take you back there.”

“W-where… then?”

“For first thing, to Iacon Main Hospital, where I work. They we will discuss the rest.”

He wasn’t going to interface with a possibly abused kid in a dilapidated house that was for sure. Even with the best intentions it spelled a disaster. 

It took Ratchet a few joors to convince authorities that as a designated mentor and a registered medic he could take a better care of Drift than the local Juvenile Center, where the kid was remanded to for some petty theft and because the local Enforcers though he could use a reeducation even after his sentence ended. Ratchet snorted and felt disgusted. He got the feeling that a kid like Drift, with a free spirit would not profit a lot from the strict atmosphere of the center. Another joor and they had an emergency transport back to Iacon, where Drift got a private room in the hospital and Ratchet started to treat him, while his friend got a room in the medic’s own apartment. That was where he intended to take Drift too after he got better, so it was logical. The two appeared to be inseparable friends, though Ratchet didn’t see any romantic connection between them. 

“Gasket, was he… abused in any way, by anymech?”

He decided to ask the gray mech who also looked better after he utilized Ratchet’s washracks and drank some clean, good quality energon, which he appreciated greatly. Drift was recharging one more night cycle in the hospital while his system recovered from the viruses.

“Not that I know of. Kid grew up on the streets, but… never saw marks on him. Seals are intact… and don’t look at me that way, we lived together in a small room and cleaning ourselves with wipe-down cloths! I saw it! I just took care of him when he ran away from the Centre.” 

“Right. Sorry. I had to ask. He looked frightened when I said mentor.”

“Dunno why. I told him about it before, and he never seemed so against it. Though… he threw away that datapad.”

Ratchet felt like facepalming yet again. This whole, sorry mess was just becoming more and more complex. 

“So that’s why he didn’t contact me – and I couldn’t get hold of him.”

The night cycle was altogether too short to get a decent recharge, but Ratchet wanted to be in the hospital early next morning, when Drift woke up. Along with Gasket, who appeared to be the only mech Drift trusted so far. He had a lot of questions and a lot of worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Center that Drift ran away from is a cross between an orphanage and a juvenile detention center. The mechs there are mostly young adults, like him, and mostly didn't do anything against the law, they just don't have jobs and livelihood and since they're cold constructed, they don't have families either.


	2. healing

“Drift? Drift, are you okay?”

Drift groaned on the berth and lifted a servo to shade his optics from the bright lights. He answered to his friend’s voice almost normally.

“Y-yeah…”

His voice was a lot better than before, Ratchet noted. He also couldn’t help noticing how much better the mech looked too, clean and repaired and not feverish from rampant viruses. Almost nice. Slag that, he looked gorgeous. Mostly white plating with black and red accents, a sleek speedster frame that looked much nicer with all his kibble intact and clean; and those faintly twitching audial spurs were just begging to…

“Where… m I?”

You are in Iacon Hospital, Drift.” He ruthlessly cut his inappropriate observations short and concentrated on not alarming the kid again. “You had a slagload of viruses in you that made a mess of your internals. Care to tell how you got them?”

“Who’re… you?”

“My designation is Ratchet. I’m your medic – and also your caretaker for awhile.”

“He’s okay, Drift.” Gasket spoke up beside him. “He helped and you don’t have to go back to the Center.”

Drift’s optics were suspicious as they wandered between his friend and Ratchet. 

“’m old enough so no need for a… _caretaker_.” He nearly spat the last word and Ratchet’s tank clenched a bit again, as he wondered just what background the kid had. He also surreptitiously avoided answering to the medic’s question about the viruses, which was also a tad bit worrying.

“You are old enough, but Rodion authorities felt like somemech should keep an optic on you, and I’m apparently not nearly as overworked as I feel, so I got landed with the responsibility.”

“We get to stay in his flat! You’ll see, Drift, it’s amazing! Clean and new and all that slag.”

“Why?” Apparently Drift was a lot more suspicious than his friend. “What’s in it for you?”

“I get a headache?”

Gasket laughed, but Drift wasn’t impressed by his ironic try to lighten the mood.

“Nomech is that… altruist.”

Ratchet frowned. Surely the kid had met a medic before and, well, all medic had the same coding – compelled to help those who needed help.

“It’s not altruism. I’m a medic. But also I got drawn as your mentor and that means extra responsibility…” – fear flashed in those blue optics and Drift’s vents picked up too – “… look, kid, don’t worry about that for now! In fact you can forget it altogether if it makes you uncomfortable, for whatever reason! I just want to help.”

“Whatever reason? You know exactly why! Slagging forged mechs…”

Ratchet stared. The nurse by his side stared too. Even Gasket looked bemused. Drift defiantly glared back at all of them.

The battle of incredulous stares ended by Ratchet asking aloud their unspoken questions.

“What do you mean, kid? What does this have to do with forged mecha?”

Drift’s defiant glare wavered for a nanoklik as he was confronted with all the incredulous stares, but he collected himself fast and scowled impressively.

“The whole mentoring slag! Is just a way to get free frags for your kind!”

Ratchet was lost for words, which had to be the first time ever. It took his processor nearly a breem to find his voice again again.

“Who in the nether Pit told you this slag?”

For the first time since Ratchet saw Drift, there was doubt flickering in the young mech’s defiant optics. He looked from one mech to the other, ending with Gasket, who just shrugged and shook his helm, so Drift turned back to Ratchet. 

“A… mech at the Center? B-but all others there got a… forged mentor, so it must be… true?”

Ratchet sighed. It was an improvement that Drift was asking it, not accusing and shouting, but it would take some arguing to convince him that it was wrong. 

“Look, Drift… if there are more older, forged mecha than cold constructed, then yeah, many pairings go that way. And I’m guessing that most of you at the center were constructed…?”

“Everyone I knew.” Again, that defiant scowl that disturbed Ratchet a lot, not for itself, but what it said about Drift and his experiences.

“Right.”

It was not right, not by a long shot to have that many constructed mech without jobs and livelihood, but Ratchet suspected that it was the special circumstances at Rodion City. Some big industry suddenly packing up and moving and leaving all the mecha created for the jobs to fend for themselves – and authorities not relocating them to other places, but cram the ones eligible into youth centres? No, it wasn’t right. But it still happened.

“Look, Drift.” Ratchet pulled up some statistics of the last lottery on a datapad and showed it to the kid. “Look at this. Rodion’s statistics – and Iacon’s. That’s Praxus. And… see if I can find Vos… there! See the difference?”

Drift stared at the small screen, but no eureka moment came as he glanced back at the medic bemused. Ratchet had to spell it out to him.

“All the other towns have roughly equal forged and constructed mentors. Rodion… well, there must be some reason for the disparity, but the lottery is not designed for forged mecha. It’s for you, young kids, no matter how you were created. The Center’s medic should have made sure you knew this – and no mech should have told you otherwise. It was, it had to be just a cruel joke.”

The next question from Drift once again made Ratchet to want to go back and throttle somemech in Rodion.

“And… if that’s true… then… is it true that it… hurts? The first time?” 

“Oh, kid… seal breaking itself can hurt a little, but other than that… no, it really shouldn’t. And… if you fear that, there are methods to make it completely painless.”

Drift’s wide optics nearly broke Ratchet’s hardened spark. He looked even younger than he was in that klik.

“Really?”

“Yes, kid… yes, Drift, really. You don’t have to worry about it though, until you’re comfortable with the whole thing. I gave you blockers, so you wouldn’t feel the chemicals urging you. They should be good for a few orns at least.”

“Thanks… I was really itching and hot lately.”

“Yes, I can imagine so. Now, if that’s cleared… how about telling me where you got so many viruses?”

It was adorable how those slender audials canted back and red suffused his white face. Drift squirmed on the medberth and it was a few breems before he spoke up again.

“I… ummm… I asked somemech for something to make it go away. I mean this heat and itching. What you called a blocker?”

“Somemech? I’m guessing it was not your medic?”

“Nah, the center’s medic was… ugh, no. Umm, some mechs who sell drugs mostly… but they can get anything if you pay the price.”

“Drug-dealers?” 

Even though drugs were mostly legal, the whole drug business remained a grey area, operating in semi-secret, despite of its formally legal status; and its dealers were the shadiest mechs Cybertron had these vorns. Yes, Ratchet could quite easily imagine them selling a virus infected blocker to a naïve young mech – just for fun, to have a laugh at his expense.

“Yeah.”

Drift didn’t look up and those gorgeous…. _ahem_ … expressive finials were canted back in shame. By rights, Ratchet should have told him a stern lesson… but somehow he thought what happened to the kid was quite enough to teach him not to try a stunt like this like… never again. 

“Well. I think you know by now how bad idea that was, right?”

No answer came aloud, but Drift’s helm nodded and he seemed to curl in on himself. Ratchet felt bad even for this much. Curious, as he usually had no problem tearing a new one to mechs whom he thought were stupid idiots…

“Hey kid, it’s not just your fault. Those mechs in the Center deserve a stronger telling off for misleading you. Which I intend to do so as soon as I have a nanoklik of free time. You just get better and stop worrying. We’ll discuss everything and go as fast or slow as you feel okay with. Deal?”

Again that surprised look that made Ratchet sigh inside. Like… like literally nomech had helped him ever, or even took him seriously, except for his friend? 

“Yeah…” Drift answered slowly and still with a not-quite-convinced tone. 

Real trust would take longer, Ratchet knew. Most young mechs trusted their mentor, because that was how they were socialized and they literally saw nothing but positive examples around them. But for a kid who learned the opposite to trust a complete stranger? Not so easy.

“Now, come on and let’s all of us relocate to my apartment. You can stay with me as long as you want to.”

Fortunately Ratchet had a fairly large apartment, which he never utilized fully, so he had free – though somewhat dusty – rooms for his guest. Neither of them complained, which didn’t surprised the medic at the very least, considering their former dwelling. They also very nearly revering the free, good quality energon, which was also not a surprise. Council rations that most poor mechs got were never a lot and sometimes a substandard quality. 

“We often went to charity kitchens.” Drift told him while reverently sipping Ratchet’s fairly normal quality energon. The medic forbade him to drink high-grade yet, while his system recovered, but on the way home he bought a few kinds of treats which also caused some wide-opticked stares and eager tasting. “They gave better energon than the Center rations.”

“I can imagine that.” The unemployment ratio for Rodion which he looked up, was abysmally high, meaning the city council had to cover a lot more poor, starving mecha than other cities.

“But nothing like you have! Thanks, for… well, everything. You are really generous.”

Gasket was still the more open and cheerful of the two, while Drift appeared suspicious of nearly everything and only accepting that it was harmless – like the energon or an own berthroom – reluctantly. It seemed his nature too, reinforced with his less than stellar experiences. Ratchet smothered a smile when he saw the grey mech elbowing his friend and Drift grimacing back before speaking up in a forcedly nonchalant tone.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem. Say, what were you doing… you know before you got unemployed?”

“We were both constructed for the Rodion Components and Parts factory. Nearly every mech in Rodion worked there. They produced mech replacement parts and constructed frames too. I worked there for vorns.”

Drift took over the tale from Gasket, in a far bitter voice.

“I was constructed for them too. Only one orn, shortly after I got assigned there, they suddenly packed up the machines, closed the factories, laid off every mech and relocated. I had work for less than a decaorn, then… the streets.”

“The town didn’t have that Center yet. Didn’t have anything for a few thousand mecha suddenly starving on the streets. Some managed to get other jobs, some, with savings and a bit more credits packed up and left for other cities… but…” Gasket glanced at Drift sadly and shrugged helplessly.

“But for many of us it was begging, starving and hoping for a miracle.” 

It was almost to the glyph as Ratchet speculated. Big companies still cared very little for their workers, despite of all the laws trying to prevent such occurrences. If they found that workers or resources were cheaper another place, say a colony world or something – they would move and leave their former employees to the charity and care of the city councils. If the town in question was a bigger one, the other firms would pick up the eager workforce – but in a small town like Rodion, where the single employer was the firm leaving, it expectably caused a social disaster. 

“The town, did it not get government aid for the situation?”

Drift glanced at his friend and they both shrugged. Right. How would they know about it on the bottom of the food-chain, struggling for sheer survival…?

“Okay, sorry. It really should have. I mean, it’s not as though you and the others there couldn’t have been relocated either. I know for a fact that in all big cities – Iacon, Tarn, Praxus, Kaon – there are always jobs being advertised for factory workers.”

“We didn’t know that.”

Ratchet shrugged helplessly. Even in this era, things like that happened and proved disastrous for the mechs involved. And he was just a medic, he couldn’t help thousands. He would have to do what he could for just Drift and his friend. 

And slag if the idea of helping Drift didn’t cause his spark to flutter excitedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that this AU has all the usual ways of reproduction, including constructed cold, forged and live birth, with the last being the rarest. Just to make it more fun and add to the plot. Even in the ideal society the remains of classism and some prejudices linger. :-)


	3. trusting

His two guests lived in his apartment for several orns now and Ratchet crammed as much time in with them into his busy schedule as he could. He took them for sightseeing in Iacon, for a drink or two in nearby cafés and restaurants, concerts, strolling in parks and even a meeting with Orion and his friends – that last one wasn’t as successful as he had hoped, as the two, mostly uneducated factory workers had little in common with the highly intellectual archivists. They didn’t have any arguments, but there was just too little common ground.

Ratchet also set up an appointment for Drift with Rung, which also wasn’t very successful – the kid was suspicious of nearly everyone, especially if they asked too many questions. In the end, Rung told him that Drift was more or less fine mentally, seemingly not too deeply scarred by the crude joke that was played on him and the careless attitude that led him fearing interfacing. Any deeper analysis would take a lot of time and patience to gain his trust and since Drift showed no particular fondness for the therapy and was not required for him to attend it, Rung and Ratchet didn’t force the issue.

Still, he wasn’t going to hurry the kid, Ratchet swore to himself. Their lodging and energon put a barely noticeable rise into his expenses even with the accounts he set up for the two mechs to use; and seeing Drift loosing a tiny chip off his shoulders every orn was well worth it. The kid looked entirely more appreciable with his expression free of scowls and narrow looks. And yes, Ratchet admitted to himself that he was looking forward to teaching Drift. He was professional enough not to fall for the kid, but he wasn’t made of stone either. Each young mech was important and precious… but still, some more so than others. Drift was… well, how he got produced as a factory worker, Ratchet could never guess. Not quite a Racer, but his sleek and beautiful frame was built for speed and agility and definitely not for heavy work in a parts factory.

He was a joy to watch on a city speedtrack, a white blur speeding over and around the slower cars, drifting and sliding through impossibly small gaps, skirting the walls all the time, making Ratchet’s spark spin faster and faster… for more than one reason. And when the kid transformed up and vaulted over the track boundary, all plates are flushed and flared to draw colder air in, his face unbridled with happiness and exhilaration from the speed and almost dancing over to him, loudly exclaiming his joy and fun… then Ratchet’s self control was put to a very strenuous test. 

“Well, yeah, I did race on Rodion’s streets. But it’s kinda different when Enforcers chase you if you go just a tiny bit over the speed limit.”

“Didn’t Rodion have a circuit?”

Because all cities had, Ratchet knew. As much as he wasn’t a fast frame or craving for speed like Racers, he, like most Cybertronians enjoyed driving, watching others to drive and of course speed events. Ratchet wasn’t so enamored by Racer frames as most mechs appeared to, but street-legal speedsters… well, they were another class entirely. And Drift was a quintessential speedster, a fine specimen at that… and showing off like whoa with his plating fully flared. Ratchet firmly ordered his spike to stay put. The kid probably wasn’t even aware that he was exuding sexual appeal like a pro dancer.

“Sure it did. It cost credits though, and those were always too few.”

“Ohh. Sorry. Should have thought of that. Go on then, enjoy it as long as you want to.”

And Drift went back to happily burn energy on the racetrack, while Ratchet went back to… not-staring Drift’s aft as the kid jumped back to the track. Later he was also not-venting-faster and not-spark-palpitating as well, as well as not-trying-to-conceal-it from the kid - until they got home again. 

But even blockers become ineffective after a time and enthusiastic racing was not enough to drain Drift’s seemingly endless energy; and when one evening over energon Ratchet noticed Drift squirming just a bit too much and his overall temperature went half a degree over normal – and he knew that they had to talk. 

“Drift? Can I ask you something?”

He choose the time when Gasket was not around for awhile. Much as he had no problem with the other mech, this topic should be between the two of them and Drift was trusting him by now enough for this talk. They both had a nice, mellow mid-grade in servo, sitting on his sofa and watching a program with half an optic – circumstances couldn’t be more relaxed if Ratchet tried. 

“Sure. What is it? Need some help again?”

“No, not this time. It was great though that you helped deliver that sample fast, they really needed it at Pharma’s clinic.”

“Sure. Any time. What is it then?”

“I noticed that you… umm, do you feel the effects again?”

Ratchet was glad that by this time Drift didn’t react with outright fear, only some mild apprehension. It was a definite improvement. Still, he stammered a bit when he answered.

“I… I… well, y-yeah.”

“I don’t mean to pressure you, but blockers can get you only so far. Can you… at least think about it?”

Drift was silent for so long that Ratchet started to think he was ignoring the question. 

“Look, it’s… I know you’re…”

“No.” Drift cut him off and glanced at him. “I’m not afraid. And I know it must be done.”

“It’s not a duty, Drift! It’s simply the way our frames work. Every mech is going through this. I just… I guess I just want you to think about it, be comfortable and… really willing. You’ve read the datapads I gave you...?”

”Yeah.” Drift glanced at him again, shifted slightly and this time it was definitely not a neutral glance. Ratchet wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something deeper in the way his optics widened slightly. “They were really helpful. And that little guy… Rung?... was too.”

“And how do you feel about it now?”

Drift sipped at his cube and pondered about the question. Or so Ratchet thought before the kid surprised him.

“Let’s do it now.”

“Wha…?” Ratchet prided himself on being very unflappable. But Drift continued to surprise him to the point of nearly choking on his cube and having trouble finding his words…

“Interface. That’s it, isn’t it? Let’s do it now. I’m ready, and from your stares you’re ready too. Let’s get it over with.”

Drift put down his cube to the small table and was sidling closer on the sofa to the shocked medic with blue fire in dilated optics. He was entirely too delectable for his own good… and still.

“Whoa there! Stop it, Drift, it’s… it’s not…”

Ratchet shut up when Drift reared up and his face turned clearly hurt.

“Hey, don’t be like that. It’s, well, I just want to say that it’s not something you must get over with like an unpleasant effort.”

“I thought you wanted it. Wanted me!” Drift pouted and wasn’t even that pout so… umm. Ratchet thought fast. How to express it best so Drift wouldn’t take it as rejection…?

“And I do. Believe me, kid, I do… but that attitude is so wrong, I can’t even… the first interface should be… enjoyable. Memorable. It shapes how you see intimacy for a long time. I don’t want you to shrug it away like it’s a duty.”

Drift still scowled, but he was sitting back down – at the far end of the sofa – and pouted.

“I dunno why you make it such a big thing. Why can’t you just show me how, break the seals and… everything’s fine ‘n dandy?”

“I can do it, if that’s really what you want… but I hoped to show you how to… enjoy it too. Interfacing is not primarily about the mechanics of it. It’s the details. The circumstances. Taking it slow. Feeling it, truly.”

“But it’s…”

“And that’s why I don’t want you to hurry it.”

Ratchet stood up from his seat and slowly put down his cube. He straightened up and stretched, long and slow. His frame was far from the sleek marvel of Drift’s, but he wasn’t ugly by any means – and he knew how to show himself off for best effort. Drift sat on his end of the sofa and stared up at him, cube forgotten in his servo. 

“I thought you said…” His voice tapered away as Ratchet approached him and he was forced to look up to the medic. “… you said… to take it slow…”

“I do intend to take it slowly, kid.”

Drift hesitated for a klik but when Ratchet stood in front of him, he rose slowly to meet him.

“Is this…slow?”

Ratchet slid a digit along the jawline, up into the helm and the finial he was so interested in seeing how it reacted.

“Very slow.”

Drift’s optics widened even more and unconsciously he leaned into the touch. The tip of the finial has already pinked up and shuddered under Ratchet’s digits. He repeated the experiment with the other finial – and got the same, adorable results. Drift blinked rapidly.

“Ratchet…?”

“I’m here, kid.”

More touches, more petting. Ratchet’s hold on the finials got a bit more sure, a bit stronger, but Drift didn’t complain. Instead his lips fell open and he panted a bit and shifted closer, his suddenly _hungry-hot-aroused_ field lapped at the medic’s own. 

“Yeah, it’s natural.” He answered the unspoken question and continued to pet Drift’s helm, discovering its lines. “As the blockers wear off, the arousal returns suddenly. If you don’t fight it.”

“I don’t wanna…”

“Good. Now just forget that ‘let’s get it over with’ nonsense… and enjoy it.”

“O-okay…”

Ratchet made sure he took it slow. How not, when it gave him the opportunity to amply discover all those sleek lines that he could only stare at so far and see how they made Drift react. The kid was basically all hotspots in his state and Ratchet couldn’t touch him anywhere without it eliciting a whimper, groan, moan or shudder from him, reducing him to jelly-kneed knot of needy speedster with his thorough exploration. 

“Come on, kid, sit.”

There was not a trace of his earlier apprehension or that stupid _hurrying it_ attitude in Drift’s field now. It was a molten mess of arousal and need and Ratchet was all too happy to oblige him with deft touches and thorough kisses to tease him into a blissed-out puddle of a mech. Even so, he was kind of surprised when suddenly Drift’s panel snapped open and his spike tore through the seal like it was tinfoil. 

“Whoa…”

Drift whimpered, but it definitely wasn’t the sound of pain and clearly he didn’t do it on purpose. Ratchet shook his helm a bit – _speedsters_ , he thought fondly and exasperatedly – and hurried to fondle the hard, bobbing arousal. Knowing servo slid over the revealed, unblemished-new metal and spread lubricant over it. Drift nearly threw him off as he bucked up, his optics turning all bright and moaning deep at the brand-new sensation and Ratchet used the momentum to slid down and lick his spike.

“Ratcheeeet…!”

Drift nearly screamed his designation and the medic chuckled. He swiped another long line up and over the fine, white shaft, ending it by licking off the prefluid already oozing from the slit… Drift’s servo fisted into the sofa cover and he strained up, to get closer… and Ratchet happily obliged to the wordless plea. Knowing lips closed over the head and teased it, sliding down and up, licking and sucking, teasing sensors and rapidly blinking biolights until Drift shouted hoarsely and erupted into Ratchet’s intake. He swallowed it and licked off what splashed around, holding and petting the kid until the shuddering tapered off and with a deep-deep sigh Drift slumped back to the sofa.

Hazy, sated, wide blue optics stared up at Ratchet as he, to sat up and smiled at the kid.

“I take it that was… enjoyable?”

“Y-yeah… a-amazing.”

“You know, it’s kinda hard to take it slow when an impatient speedster runs ahead.”

The pink suffusing Drift’s cheeks was entirely too adorable.

“I… c-couldn’t help it…”

“Hey, don’t take that seriously! I was just joking.” Ratchet tickled a headlight that was conveniently by his servo and was rewarded by soft chortles and Drift jerking surprised.

“N-no..! R-ratchet! S-stop it! …. Ohhh… s-s…”

Drift’s feeble protests were utterly ruined by incessant giggles and Ratchet didn’t take them seriously either. He tickled Drift until the chuckles increased to full-out laughter and lubricant streamed from his optics.

“That’s better…”

“You’re c-cruel!”

His pout was still ruined by an occasional snicker breaking through it, even though Ratchet stopped the tickles before they would turn uncomfortable. At the edge of his attention something moved and from the corner of an optic Ratchet noticed Gasket returning… and when the gray mech quietly edged past them and disappeared into his room, he stopped worrying about it and focused his attention again on Drift. It wasn’t a hard task. The kid’s face and audials were still blushing pink and the smile drawing the corner of his mouth was far more becoming of him that the scowls he usually sported. Ratchet sit up with some effort, drawing Drift with him, stealing a kiss during the process that was eagerly returned.

“The rest would be far more comfortable on a berth, you know?”

“Okay…”

Drift was comically surprised just how much his knees still felt like jelly and that Ratchet had to support him as he stood up. Still they got into his berthroom without falling and Ratchet only tickled a headlight again when they were by the berth. 

“N-not… ahahhha… fair!”

Drift jerked and nearly fell, but he was holding onto Ratchet too strong for that… that and coupled with his natural flexibility he managed to twist out from the tickling servos and tripped-pushed Ratchet first onto the berth. Ratchet went down on his back surprised, but he didn’t let go of white plating and pulled the kid after him. Drift fell on him and froze a bit, glancing at him questioningly. 

“Umm…”

He realized that the kid’s was between his spread legs and his once again eager spike was brushing fluids on his own heated panel.

“If you want to… sure.”

It was not how mentoring usually went, but then, Drift wasn’t an average mech either and there was no reason not to indulge him. Ratchet slid away his panel and revealed his own slick valve. The eager but inexperienced spike nosed its way towards it and bumped into his anterior node, sliding over it in a flash of heat and returned.

“Aaahh…”

Ratchet saw some stars that matched no known constellations and heat suffused his frame in great waves. Drift continued to poke him without skill and it took serious effort for Ratchet to speak up coherently.

“It’s… mmm… okay to help with your servo… ahhh… until you have more practice.”

Drift’s audial pinked up again, but he didn’t say anything. One servo disappeared from Ratchet’s view and the kid’s spike finally found its mark and hesitantly – _don't stop, it’s okay, go on_ – thrust in. Ratchet panted and moaned as its girth stretched his valve deliciously. Drift’s mouth hang wide and his optics were nearly white in brightness and locked on Ratchet like laser sights. All his vents roared and plating flared as he still slowly thrust in. 

“That’s… oooh… it… doing, ummm, well… now just… move…!”

“’m n-not… hurting you?”

“No, kid, you’re doing the opposite of hurting! Just move already!” 

Ratchet nearly shouted at Drift, the motionless, but still teasing spike inside him drove him mad. It took him all his experience and processor to calm down a bit and lift a leg to hook behind the kid and urge him closer, deeper. Fortunately Drift took the hint and started to move, movements jerky and uneven, but thrusting in and out with eagerness now. He didn’t have any technique or experience but he had stamina and a nice, fat spike… and Ratchet thoroughly enjoyed it stretching him and the friction exciting the sensors inside. Drift picked up the tempo when he realized that he wasn’t hurting Ratchet and rammed in with some force now, hitting the deepest sensors and the ceiling node… and Ratchet shouted as he did it, grabbed him and encouraged the kid to - _do that, please more!_ – and Drift was happy to oblige and he was moaning too again and they chased their overloads that were fast approaching…

“Driiiiift!”

He should be ashamed to go over first, Ratchet knew, but Drift was repeatedly hitting his ceiling node and from that angle that made his vision go all starry night and he lost it. But the kid was not much behind, because he thrust into Ratchet’s spasming valve once, twice more and roared his own release into the room as well...

“Yessssss….!”

Drift sagged onto him but still strained, jerked trying to force his spike deeper as it jetted transfluid into his valve in streams, causing Ratchet to see stars again. 

“Wow…”

Ratchet snickered tiredly. He tightened his calipers experimentally and smirked when Drift’s optics widened again.

“See kid? Nothing to be afraid of…”

“C-can’t say I’m afraid of anything now…”

Ratchet laughed, a bit breathlessly still and kissed Drift again. He spoke up when they parted lips and Drift’s optics started to burn bright again…

“Good. I think you start to get the hang of it, kid.”

“If I knew it was… this slagging amazing, I’d’ve never tried to avoid it.”

“Not your fault. But at least now you know. Ready for some more? You still have a seal that should go.” There was just a barest nanoklik of hesitation but Ratchet was looking out for it and noticed and let Drift have the final say in it. “We can actually leave that for later if you want to…?”

Drift pulled out and hissed as his spike slid out from Ratchet’s tight calipers. He knelt up and Ratchet could fully appreciated the view of him in all his glory, running hot from the recent interface, plates flared fully, sleek, speedster lines enhanced with flush and that nice, white spike bobbing again… he could watch the kid all orn long and it wouldn’t become a chore. Interfacing with him, well, that was even better. At times like this Ratchet really appreciated being a mentor.

“Nah, let’s do it now.” Drift nodded to himself and said finally and with the conviction in his tone that Ratchet wanted to hear. “You seemed to enjoy it, I know that I did, so… yeah, let’s get rid of that seal too.”

He slung his legs over to one side and let Ratchet sit up. 

“You want me to…” He waved to the berth. Ratchet shrugged and smiled.

“However you feel comfortable. Interface is possible in nearly all positions and combinations you can imagine. And then some more.” He snickered and shook his helm at the suddenly thoughtful expression on Drift’s face. “I’ll give you some reading on that too. Later.”

He tackled the kid to the berth and proceeded to feel him up like at first – those sleek lines, lots of seams and just visible wires underneath just called his servos to see the reactions Drift produced when he fondled them. His own spike was also grateful when he released it – the confines of his panel was getting a bit too tight for his arousal. Drift also started to give back as good as he got – his touches were hesitant and inexperienced, sometimes a bit to strong a pinch, sometimes too feather-light and tickling, but getting better all the time. He only stopped when Ratchet slid a digit in between valve lips to check the seal. He hummed a little.

“Now, that seal you broke so fast… did it hurt?”

It took Drift a few kliks to find his processor and voice again. 

“Umm… yeah, a bit. At first. But it was over very fast.”

“Now, the valve seal can be a bit more painful. Sometimes it’s not hurting at all, sometimes it’s just strange… but it can be more painful. You do have a strong and thick seal, so it’s probably better be ready for the last.”

Drift’s aroused haze was a starting to dissipate and his frame tensed up slightly under Ratchet. The medic shifted a bit up to allow more space between them, but he didn’t stand or kneel up fully.

“Fortunately I came prepared.”

Ratchet pulled a small tube from his subspace and showed it to the slightly frowning Drift.

“It’s a simple, fast acting, local anaesthetic. It numbs a small area immediately and its effect goes away quickly too. I just apply it…” - he proceeded to do that - “…and take care of the seal before you feel anything.” 

There was a tense, somewhat nervous waiting in Drift’s optics and Ratchet smirked. His digits circled around to remove the seal’s remains and check the rim but Drift didn’t feel it at all.

“What? Ain’t you going to…?”

“Kid, it’s done.”

“Done, what?”

“The seal.”

Ratchet leaned over the kid again and kissed the confusion off his lips. His spike needed no guidance to find its mark and he swallowed the first _ohhhh…_ from Drift’s lips as he slid in. His valve was tight of course, but producing more than enough lubricant… and as the anaesthetic’s effect dissipated fully, it reacted beautifully to his spike, calipers gripping him in a vice-like grip. Ratchet paused and held himself unmoving while the first, inevitable reaction to dispel the invader passed and the sense of pleasure kicked in. Blue optics widened and Drift moaned deeply again.

“Not painful, right?”

“N-nooo! Just feel… f-full..”

“Good. That’s normal.”

He pushed in more as the calipers let him and Drift’s hips bucked up to meet his thrust, further deepening the penetration. He was warming up again and his field loosened too. 

“More!”

Ratchet laughed but obeyed the breathless demand. The kid was a fast learner and a true, impatient, _want-it-all_ and _want-it-now speedster_ … but it fit Drift and he got to enjoy it so who was he to complain? He still moved slow, since the kid apparently didn’t know his limits either and the last thing Ratchet wanted was for him to get hurt or even just sore… it might not mean anything or it might just ruin the whole improvement Drift made. Still, as they warmed into the interface again and Drift started to make impatient sounds and urging him on, Ratchet still sped up a bit. 

“Kid, it’s not… ahhhh… a race…”

“B-but you’re a tease!”

Ratchet shook his helm fondly and exasperated and chuckled again. 

“Well, if you are so insistent…”

“I…”

His next thrust was a forceful and deep one and Drift broke off in mid-word to moan loudly. 

“Y-yessss…!”

He wasn’t going to last long this way, Ratchet knew, even with the previous overloads. The kid had a typical stamina of a young speedster. Overloading fast, because he didn’t even know the meaning of holding out, but ready for the next round almost straight afterwards. So Ratchet picked up his pace, while still showing the kid some technique and in kliks they were again both at the edge of the overload. Then he slowed again for a bit but before Drift could complain he gathered up one long white leg and thrust in strongly from the new angle. 

“Aaaahhhhh…!”

Drift shouted out in surprise at the newer, stronger sensation and Ratchet didn’t hesitate to plunge in, chasing both their overloads.

“Ra…ratcheeeeet!!!”

Ratchet rammed in the final time and he, too shouted Drift’s designation while bursting into the spasming valve. Time stood still for a precious moment while they floated on bliss… and then Ratchet leaned down on weak arms with vents roaring, let down Drift’s leg and kissed him deeply. White arms sneaked around him and held him close while they came down from the interface high and basked in the afterglow. Ratchet cuddled Drift close and kept on kissing him like there was no tomorrow, murmuring sweet nothings into the pink audial. They fell into recharge soon afterwards, completely heedless of the mess on the berth.

Ratchet never felt more sorry for anything before the next morning when he had to leave the kid still sleepy and sated in his berth and leave for the hospital. Even though they continued to interface the next few nights and Ratchet taught Drift a lot more than a mentor usually did, he knew that it wasn’t going to last. Mentoring was just a one-time thing. He had no right to capitalize Drift’s time and interests, the kid needed to find his own partners, his own style... his own love eventually. He shouldn’t be a solution to why Ratchet was unable to find a long-term partner himself.

And so it happened that… when a decaorn later he arrived home to find neither of his guests and none of their things there, Ratchet didn’t go after them. He held the short _thank you_ note in his servo and sighed. Far earlier he had supplied them with enough credits to start a new life, information about jobs and opportunities – a courier or delivery job would suit Drift much better than a factory one, he thought – and he wished them well wherever they went. He wasn’t happy about it, but nor was he angry. Every mentor had to learn to let their charge go. Even if it was hard. _Especially_ if it was hard. 

Ratchet hoped that he would run into the kid again. Sometime. But he wasn’t going to look for him.


End file.
